


Fine, Just Fine

by BastardSonOfDay (Diana_Raven)



Series: Bingo Prompts [9]
Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Gen, because i cant write a story without having lucien in it ajajajaj, idk i have to shoehorn him into everything i write
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-03
Updated: 2018-06-03
Packaged: 2019-05-17 15:03:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14834540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Diana_Raven/pseuds/BastardSonOfDay
Summary: Something goes wrong, and Cassian could die.aka Cassian's wings get infected after hybern





	Fine, Just Fine

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: graphic descriptions of sickness/wounds, guilt, and angst
> 
> also originally lucien wasn't going to be in this but that seems to have... not happened. because i would die for lucien development and if sjm won't write it then i guess i'll just have to do it myself
> 
> Prompt: Septicemia/infected wounds

“How am I doing Az?” Cassian asked tiredly, his eyes drooped.

“You’re doing fine, Cass.” Azriel whispered, trying to keep his voice from cracking and his tears from his eyes. “Just fine.”

Cassian nodded softly. His eyelids fell and Cassian began to snore softly.

Azriel looked at the nurse. He held Cassian’s hand in his, unable to let go. Az sniffed loudly, and wiped at his watering eyes. “How-How long?”

The nurse sighed. “If all goes well, sir, a few months.”

“And if it doesn’t?”

“Let’s not think about that sir, not yet.” The nurse gave Az a reassuring smile and pat on the shoulder. Then someone called for her and she rushed off to help a patient.

* * *

Rhys came to relieve Az from Cass’s side, but Az didn’t want to go. Rhys sat next to him, pulling him into a hug. “How’s he doing?”

“He’s been sleeping for a while.” Az said softly.

“That’s good—gives him time to heal.”

“He won’t eat anything.”

Rhys deflated. He slumped in his chair. Rhys glanced at Azriel, studying him. He looked horrible, and didn’t smell that great either. Azriel hadn’t shaved, his clothes were still dirty and bloody from Hybern… Rhysand glanced at Cassian who’s snuffling had become slightly uneven. He hovered a hand over Cass’s mouth just to make sure he was still breathing.

Azriel snorted. “I’ve done that fifteen times today.”

“You should go to bed. And shower. Shower before bed. Unless you’re really tired, then bed first.”

Azriel scowled. “I’m not leaving him alone.”

“I’m with him!”

Azriel frowned. Then he sighed. “Fine. But in…” he glanced at the clock, “in eight hours and change, I’ll be back to relieve you.”

“If you can drag me away.” Rhysand stretched and cracked his back. Rhys took Cassian’s limp hand in his. “I’m not going anywhere for a while. Enjoy the break.”

Azriel left the room and Rhysand watching Cassian’s chest rise and fall. Just seeing that movement… rising and falling… it lulled Rhysand into a state of calm.

It was the bad smell that hit Rhysand’s nose that shattered his calm. He didn’t know what it was… it smelled like rot. What could that have possibly been? It wasn’t as though Cassian had farted, farts didn’t smell like that, (though he’d been told by Madja that flatulence was a good thing as it showed his bowel functions were working). Maybe the smell was a remnant of some medicine they were feeding him. But then… why would it smell like rot? The smell was very faint as it was, so it probably would go away in a little. Rhysand could only tell it was there because he’d been sitting in the room for so long. His state of calm disappeared and all that was left was a whisper of anxiety from the smell.

Madja frowned when she walked in. She nodded to one of her nurses which followed her in and Madja beelined for Cassian.

Rhysand started and the nurse put a kind hand on his shoulder. “High Lord, it’s okay. We’re just checking his bandages.”

Madja peeled back the bandages and Cassian whimpered. Rhysand was on his feet in a second, the nurse grabbing him—holding him back.

“Stop! You’re hurting him!” Rhys demanded.

“Sire, I must. I’ll be very gentle.” Madja said softly, understandingly. She was used to such outbursts from family.

Rhysand squeezed his eyes shut to stop any tears. “I’m-I apologize, Madja. I trust you. I-I know you-I know you know what you’re doing.”

Madja smiled and the nurse patted Rhys’s shoulders. “We know.”

“Would you like to stay, High Lord? You can watch if you so choose. Some loved ones prefer to leave...”

“No, no. I’ll stay.”

Madja smiled gently. “Very well. Sit down, Sire.”

Rhysand sat. Madja ordered the nurse to come over in a calm tone.

A too calm tone.

Cassian’s wings were riddled with large wounds. None of which were red and scabbing. No, instead they were yellow and puckered, and when Madja pulled back the last of the bandages, Rhysand brought a hand to their nose to block the wave of smell.

Madja and the nurse knew what that meant, even if Rhysand didn’t.

It definitely had not been a fart.

“Get him out of here.” Madja ordered calmly.

The nurse nodded, grabbing Rhys roughly by the arm. “This way, my Lord.”

“Wait-What? Where are you taking me? What’s going on? What’s that smell?” Questions swarmed Rhysand’s head. Worry almost doubled him over, and fear kept him from lashing out at the nurse, though he did struggle. The nurse was deceptively strong and she shoved him out of the room, closing the door behind herself.

Rhysand wasn’t a doctor, but even he knew yellow wasn’t a good color unless the wound was a bruise.

“What is going on? _Please_ you _have_ to tell me!” Rhysand begged.

“We’re worried that...” She paused, as if she wasn’t sure how to continue, “… the General may be septic.”

“B-But how could that have happened? This is a hospital!”

“Unfortunately, an overwhelming percentage of infections contracted _within_ a hospital are… from the hospital.”

Rhysand’s jaw dropped. “You’re kidding.”

“Alas… no. But we’re ready to take care of something like this, we just have to evaluate the situation.” But Rhysand must have still looked worried because she added: “he’s going to be okay, Sire. He’ll be okay.”

Rhysand was speechless.

“You can’t go back in there, High Lord. Not until we say so. We need to keep the room clear of as many foreign bodies that we can, so he doesn’t get worse.”

Rhysand said nothing.

“Do you understand me, Sire? I need you to understand me.”

Rhys nodded dully, staring at the door to Cassian’s room.

“I need to go tell the other healers…” The nurse took Rhys’s hand and squeezed it gently. She turned about to walk away when Rhys finally found his voice.

“Pl-ease.” His voice broke and he spoke. “Please, let him live.”

Rhysand wasn’t sure if he was talking to the Mother or to the nurse.

The nurse smiled though, as if she understood to whom and what he meant, as if she’d seen it many times before. Then she turned and took off running.

 _Running,_ Rhys thought stupidly, he felt as though he was floating, at that point where things were so bad he had begun to feel like he was in a dream, unable to feel anything good or bad—just nothing, _that can’t be good_.

* * *

Azriel sublimated his anger and guilt out on Amren (she’d offered, if she hadn’t he would be dead by now). Rhysand blamed himself—especially after Madja had sent a nurse out to ask (albeit, kindly) why he hadn’t noticed the smell and come to her. Feyre reassured him over and over though the bond, but it didn’t help. He wanted her here. He _needed_ her here.

Morrigan was the one to comfort him, not that she could stay with him much. Mor was pretty busy with the Archeron Sisters who were just as high-maintenance as Rhysand was at the moment.

Rhys had even another layer of guilt because he was becoming such a mess and causing Mor trouble. He shouldn’t have been the one become a mess, he didn’t have a right. Feyre was sticking her neck out, if either of them was to be a mess it should have been her. He didn’t have a right to demand anything from Mor, she was keeping the Court running (with Amren’s help) _and_ taking care of the Sisters (which, Feyre had admitted, took a better woman than her). He had no right to burden anyone else with his worry and guilt.

Then Madja came to him. Rhysand had become accustomed to the look on her face, and he knew what it meant. His stomach dropped into his knees.

“ _Azriel_ ,” He whispered for his brother’s shadows to hear, “ _something’s happened_.”

Cassian had gotten worse.

“You may want to sit down.” Madja said kindly. Rhysand sat. “Cassian’s infection has not gone down… I’m worried.”

Rhysand got dizzy. The world swayed. “I need to sit down.”

“You are sitting.”

“Oh...”

“Sire, we don’t want Cassian to go septic, because once he’s septic… there’s nothing we can do. Do you understand?”

Rhysand nodded.

“There is only one thing we can think of… Rhys,” Madja placed a hand on Rhysand’s shoulder, “we want to surgically debreed him.”

“What does that mean?”

“We need to cut the infected parts off of his wings as soon as possible.”

“You-You want to amputate-?”

“Not amputate. We would just cut out the infected part, before it spreads to his bloodstream and he becomes septic. Rhysand, he’ll never fly again. We need your approval before we operate, but Rhysand, you have no choice. We need it now.”

“Do it. Do whatever you can to save his life.” _He’ll fly again_. Rhys insisted in his mind, _I don’t care what they say. He’ll fly again. He has to._

By the time the rest of the Court of Dreams arrived (sans the Archerons) Cassian was already in surgery.

Three hours and seventeen minutes later, Madja came out of the surgery room.

“Please, sit.”

“Is he alive?” Azriel demanded. Everyone stayed standing.

“He’s alive. No one will be able to see him until we say. The surgery went well, and we think we got all of the infection.”

“But what?” Mor insisted.

Madja sighed. “But… he will never fly again. And considering how much we had to cut out… I doubt he’ll be able to take prosthetics either. There aren’t small patches of wing missing, most of his wing-skin is gone. I’m sorry, but there was nothing we could do about that.”

No one spoke for a long time.

Finally, “He’ll fly again.”

“Lord Spymaste-”

“ _He’ll fly again_.” Az snarled. He strode from the room, and that was the end of the subject.

* * *

 

“Cassian!” Feyre cried. She jumped into his bed, and he laughed, pulling her into a hug.

Lucien stood awkwardly in the doorway with Azriel who’d flown them both back to the Night Court (Lucien had been extremely unhappy about the arrangement).

“Your wings...” Lucien breathed, eyes wide.

Cassian sent Lucien a glare. He knew he shouldn’t blame Lucien, who had seen the errors of his ways, but a small part of himself did. Lucien was part of the reason Cassian would never fly again. Even until now, all of the prosthetics they’d tried had shown no results. Currently, Rhysand was commissioning another version of Cassian’s wing-patches which would hopefully be able to be strapped to Cassian’s wingbones so he could use them to catch air. If he couldn’t fly, hopefully he could at least glide.

But at the moment, Cassian’s wings were bare. Almost completely stripped to the bones, sparse with their leathery texture and the scarred edges were nerve-damaged. If his wings had been sensitive before, that was nothing compared to what they were now. Every slight breeze made Cassian flinch.

“What about them?” Cassian demanded.

“Cass-”

“I’m sorry.” Lucien said, surprising the General. “This is all my fault. I-” Lucien closed his mouth with a snap, mortification and horror in his eyes.

“It’s not… that bad.” Cassian said, suddenly uncomfortable being mad at a person who blamed himself already (though he still completely found Lucien at fault).

“I want to fix it. How can I-What can I do?”

Cassian held Lucien’s gaze and then shook his head, pulling Feyre in tighter. “Nothing. There’s nothing you can do.”

“Cass...-” Feyre said, as if she thought Cassian was cutting Lucien out from spite.

“Feyre, there’s nothing he can do. There’s nothing… anyone can do. I’ll never fly again.”

“I-I didn’t realize it was so bad. Why didn’t you tell me? Rhys just said-”

“He thinks I’ll fly again. I’ve already gone through the stages of grief, Feyre. My brothers have not.”

“If Rhys thinks you’ll fly again, then you’ll fly again.” Feyre insisted. She stared at her hands, clearly contemplating if she could do something to help.

Cassian wanted to disillusion her but he didn’t want to take away her hope. So he didn’t argue. Her face lit up with an idea and she ran to Azriel, bringing him outside presumably to scheme about ways to get Cassian in the air again.

Now alone, Lucien sat in the chair next to Cassian.

“I owe you for what I’ve done.” Lucien said, his intense eyes unwavering. Unshying.

Cassian held his gaze.

“Tell me, and I’ll do it.”

“We tried to talk to Nuan and… the metal is to heavy to fly.” Cassian explained. “Too heavy to even glide.”

“What can I do?” Lucien asked honestly.

“I don’t know yet. But one day, I will. And I have a feeling, your eye will come in handy.”

Lucien stared at him. It was as though Lucien had his mask back on again. Cassian had no idea what the Fox Boy of Prythian was thinking.

“It’s yours.” Lucien promised.

Cassian held out a hand.

Lucien took it.

The whorl of magic swirled up Cassian’s back, curling around his wingbones. Large black curls and swirls of magic depicted the outline of an eye between the joints that connected Cassian’s useless wings to his back. Another whorl of magic colored Lucien’s face. It arched around his eye, waving up and down over his lid, dancing around his scar, and decorating his eyebrow.

They dropped their hands.

“To cover that up you’ll have to put that mask back on.” Cassian joked.

“Don’t think you’ll have it any easier.” Lucien said, crossing his legs.

Cassian snorted. His eyes met Lucien’s once again.

“How are you doing, Cass?” Lucien asked. “Really,” he added before Cassian could open his mouth, “ _really_ how are you doing?”

“Fine, Foxy.” Cassian said, a fake smile sunning his face. “Just fine.”


End file.
